DISCLAIMER: Let's pretend Season 12B never happened, alright? I don't own Degrassi or the song is fic is inspired by, but I'd fuck Iggy Azalea in a minute. Also, this is AU.
So, he's kind of used to this. She's fucking beautiful and out of reach, and he's sitting on the steps of the porch with a shitty joint hanging out of his mouth. She's slipping off her heels, dancing in the grass with the school's brainless jock, and there's bile rising in his throat. He pinches the rolled paper between his fingers and exhales, hoping the bile is metaphorical, but nope, one cough and all the food he ate past 6 pm is speeding to the ground. Fuck, he messed up, puking in plain sight of Clare god damn Edwards. He looks up, and he knows he's small as shit, because she hasn't even wrinkled her nose in notice of the smell. The dress she's wearing is falling off her shoulders and he's shit.
Now he wipes his mouth, and reaches for the red solo cup on the fence of the porch as he stands up, takes a swig of it to gargle with and spits it on the ground with the rest of his dinner. He takes one more hit before willingly committing the crime of approaching the younger girl dancing without her shoes on. In 6 strides, he's in close proximity with the girl in question, and she's dancing to an irrelevant song with another irrelevant dude and he's fed up with this. "Wanna hit?" He offers the half joint he has to the girl, interrupting her mid-grind. It takes a few seconds before her eyes find the shitty thing he rolled a half hour ago, she smiles, kind of, and takes the joint from his hand. "I have more," he tells her, skin buzzing from the lazy brush of her fingers.
"I bet you do, um, Eli?" She smirks, kind of again, like she's in on this big joke. Maybe Eli's the joke. In all honesty, he knows he probably is, but he doesn't want to believe it. She puts the spliff in her mouth and it takes a minute before the dark haired shit is able to pull out his lighter, her lips look more inviting when he's drunk, it's not his fault. He watches the girl inhale, and fuck, Clare Edwards is so close to him.
"Yeah," he nods, smirking as the girl kills the hit, handing him back the joint. Next thing he knows, the small Edwards is pulling him by his shirt and blowing the smoke into his gaped mouth. Fuck, Eli wants to kiss her, she's so fucking sexy and beautiful, man, he's fucked up and he just wants her. He does when he's sober, and the desire is so easily manipulated. He wants to take her in his arms right now, but he does nothing, this piece of shit literally keeps his hands in his pockets.
"You dance?" Clare motions to him, her eyes cloudier than they were a minute ago, and he's fucking intoxicated. Like, yeah, he's drunk, but there's nothing more inebriating to Eli Goldsworthy than this fucking girl. He nods, dumbly, and she turns so she's not facing him and he's okay with that, because he can't fucking look at those eyes anymore. He's a piece of shit and when the song changes and she moves against him he feels like a polished turd, but it's okay, because Clare Edwards is fucking grinding on him.
"Fuck," he groans, hands sliding from his sides to her hips, and now he's getting into it. Clare turns her head and their faces are too close. She smiles; hand wrapping up and grabbing on to his hair, pulling it and giving him a pleasure he's never fucking known. He doesn't feel special until she locks her eyes with his, because he was watching her all night and she didn't do this with any other dude she danced with. Eli Goldsworthy is getting a completely original Clare dance. He's victorious.
"Do you have anything else I might want?" Fuck, she moving her hands now, and they're sinking into his pockets, and he's losing his mind. She pulls a small bag with a few tokes in it, which he was trying to save but now there's no point, because whatever Clare Edwards wants, she gets. She smirks, turning around to face and pulls two out, one sliding into her bra. A sneaky look appears on her face, "For when you pass out and I'm still up, of course." She holds the toke out for him to light and hits it first. She's fucking gold, god damn it.
"Are you assuming I can't keep up with you?"
"Oh, that's sweet, Eli," she smiles at him and fuck, it's not even a kind of smile, she's full blown, genuinely smiling. "I know you can't."
They're walking through the neighborhood, it's barely warm, but the girl is walking in heels and a short dress, and he's fucking infatuated. She's high as shit and has a beer in her hand, god, what time is it? How are they getting away with such public inebriation? Eli knows the curly haired girl is plastered, but she's walking fine and there's a slight slur to her words, but it's not even noticeable. One can only notice how fucked up Clare Edwards is by the complete lack of shit that comes out of her mouth. For a few hours, the girl is completely honest. He hardly notices the girl sit on the sidewalk because he's so lost in thought, but Eli follows the light as it flickers out of his sight. Sitting down, he moves himself as close to the little lady, and she grins at him, "I'm not tired or anything, I'm just bored. Do you have a car around here? I want music, but if I go back to the party I'll probably forget about you, and we both know that's not a good thing for you." It stings, but where the fuck does she come off? Eli wants to snap, but her head lulls and falls to his shoulder, and fuck, she smells like sweat and vanilla.
"Yeah," he murmurs, noticing that maybe Clare Edwards always has a little lie up her sleeve. Girls like that can't be trusted, his dad even told him, but he can't seem to break the string that ties him so tightly around her finger. "Get up, Edwards," he laughs, and the girl does, but not before slipping the heels off once more and picking them up with a firm grip.
"Where is it?" Clare has a sneaky sort of look to her, her eyes glistening with promises of mischief. She moves closer to this obsessive piece of shit, her free hand fisting the fabric of his shirt, pulling him to look into her eyes. They're glazed and hazy, fuck, she's high, but Clare Edwards' lips are more intimidating. "Your car, I mean," she smirks, moving her hand to the crotch of Eli's pants, "I already know where your boner is, pal."
Coughing, pushing her hand off him, the boy chokes for a moment before pointing down the street, "The hearse," he gets out, and the girl laughs some sort of evil thing that makes the shit's head spin. Then, before he fucking catches his breathe, the girl has taken off, running to his car, barefooted on the street. "Fuck, Clare!" He shouts, a laugh escaping him along with a labored breath.
"Beat you," she smirks, laughing, "Can we sit in the back?" She moves to the back of the hearse, checking to see if the door was open, and since the shit has the weirdest, shittiest car in existence, the locks don't work and she slips in. He follows, because he's Eli Goldsworthy and this is fucking Clare Edwards. They have English together, and she hardly knows him, but he's been in love with her since he bumped into her smoking a cigarette in the boys' locker room when he was grade 10 and she grade 9. She told him it wasn't a habit, but sometimes they help with cramps. That's not even true, he found out like 7 months later she was dared to skip class and try to set the fire alarms off, so she smoked right under the smoke detector in the locker room. Why she was in boys', he'll never know. He's a year older now and she's in grade 10 and she's smart as shit, Clare Edwards. She's beautiful, smart and a fucking mystery and Eli wants to unravel her. He sits near the back, and the girl moves to turn the radio on, a faster song than the hearse is used to come on.
Her hands run up her sides, weaving in her own hair and moving illegally in front of him. Not illegally, but like fuck, Clare Edwards should not be doing this in front of a shit like him, Eli groans, and she opens her eyes, moving with eye contact now. "I'm kind of horny," she laughs, moving so she's in his lap, "Help me out, Goldsworthy," god damn it, Clare is breathing on his neck, lighting grazing his ear with her lips. Where the fuck did this come from? Also, how the fuck did she know his last name? He's fucking at loss for words and watches as Clare picks up his limp hands and moves them up and down her sides until he regains control of his own limbs, his hands pushing up the fabric of her dress. She looks frustrated when she leans back to look at him, "Either touch me," the younger girl speaks lowly, and fuck, her bright blue eyes are now dark. Her hands weave into his hair pulling his head back so he bumps his head on the back of the car, "Or eat me, Goldsworthy."
That's it, this piece of shit is done being lame as fuck, he grabs her and pulls her off him, pushing her so she's on her back in his hearse, a fucking fantasy in its own. She wiggled a little, pushing her hips up to meet his and he took it as a sign to move Clare's hands above her head, pinning her down. The boy's other hand moved to the neckline of her dress, pulling the fabric to expose the girl's chest. He moved the dress up, jerking her lacey underwear down her legs as best he could with one hand. Ultimately getting frustrated, Eli let go of her hands and moved between her thighs to tear the underwear she donned off. Pulling off his shirt the moment the girl was beneath him, the black haired shit let his hand drift to her core, rubbing her. Her body was warm, radiating a heat just for him and he immediately felt the blood flow redirect itself. The girl writhed as he teased her with his fingers, and he moved his fingers from her completely moved under her dress, so he could trace lines on the girl's stomach, watching her inhale sharply when his finger would move a certain way. Clare was beautiful and he was lightheaded.
Fed up with the barrier between him and the warmth, the boy unbuttoned his jeans and slid further back into the car, pushing the girl's body so she was half sitting. Sliding her dress off and clumsily using his feet to wiggle free of his jeans, Eli moved Clare back so she was comfortably laying on the bed with her legs spread for him, exposing herself. Eli rested his hands on her knees for a moment, taking a moment to wait for a blush to wash over her, but nothing ever came, instead she characteristically rolled her eyes. His fingers started to moved from her knees to the inside of her thighs, and then her core. Clare let out a small moan that made the dumb shit's eyes roll into the back of his head, her body and her sounds erotic without even trying. "Fuck, Clare," he groaned, moving down between her legs, his mouth far from talking now. Clare's hips moved against Eli's fingers and she had to work to resist bucking her hips. Despite her teeth digging into her lips, small moans still managed to escape her mouth. Clare moved her hand to Eli's head and roughly moved her fingers through his black hair.
"God, fuck," she was bucking against his face, eyes closed. One hand was in his hair, the other was on her breast, and maybe he was dead. He was moving his mouth against her bundle of nerves and pumping two fingers in the small girl, and he was pretty sure this was heaven, she was fucking heaven. If he wasn't sure he was already dead, he'd be wishing he could die just like this. "Fuck, don't stop," she gripped his hair harder, "I'm so close, fuck." Curling his fingers inside her and moving his tongue against her, the girl screamed for him, not his name, but that's okay. He was fucking high off her. Clare moved away from him, smiling sleepily. "I'll give you a handjob or something in the morning, okay?" She motioned for him to move next to him, Clare fucking Edwards just came for him and now she's fucking sleeping on his shoulder.
Fuck, this was a weird fucking night, but he's in fucking heaven.
He wakes up in the morning, she's not there. Neither is the rest of his weed. Fuck.